The Adventure of the Naming of the Canine
by Nowordwriter
Summary: When the Baker Street boys take in John's old dog, Sherlock is aghast at the name of the canine and suggests a few alternatives that only Sherlock would think of. One shot. Reviews are very welcome and much appreciated. Enjoy!


**Author's Note: Howdy! I took a quick break from Young Detectives (Check that out, people who haven't yet) to write this little quickie. One shot. Please, please review and enjoy!**

**-NWW**

* * *

"I didn't know you had a dog."

"Well, you never asked and it never came up," John replied frankly to Sherlock. They were at 221B, Sherlock sitting calmly in his respective chair while John rushed around frantically, getting ready to leave so he wouldn't be late for work.

"And why, did you say, is it coming here?" Sherlock asked for the fourth time. John threw his hands in the air exasperatedly with his coat only half on, "Because Harry doesn't want _him_ anymore! That's why. If you had been listening, the first three times I told you, I could've been working! You know, working, a job, making money."

Sherlock snorted dismissively. "Money? Money's domestic. Boring. Tedious. Humdrum. Dull—"

"Alright! I get it, I'm leaving, goodbye."

Sherlock sniffed as he listened to the rush of John's footsteps. He didn't object to the idea of having a dog. It could be handy. Experiments would ensue. Only when John was out, of course.

* * *

"You named the dog _Tank_?" Sherlock asked in disbelief.

"Problem?" John replied sarcastically.

"Obviously. You named your dog _Tank._"

John peered at the massive dog lying lazily on the carpet in front of them. "He looks a bit like a tank, doesn't he? C'mon, look at those rolls. I thought it was a perfect name," the army doctor defended.

"Look at those intelligent eyes!" Sherlock cried and Tank sighed and rolled over helpfully. "A being with eyes like that should have a name of great significance and worth!"

John sighed, "Well what do you suggest, then?"

"Socrates," Sherlock answered immediately.

John snorted, "Uh, no. We're not calling the dog Socrates."

"Why not? A great Greek philosopher, one of the founders of western philoso—"

"Nope. Not Socrates."

"Plato?"

"The cartoon dog?"

"No! Plato the mathematician and philosopher!"

"Oh right…_Pluto…Plato_."

"How about Aristophanes?"

"How about a name at least half of London can spell?"

"You're impossible."

"And you want to name a dog 'Socrates'."

Sherlock huffed and said, "I won't call this dog 'Tank'. I will think of my own name for him."

John smiled with endearing patience and went to feed Tank.

* * *

A week later Sherlock had found his name for the dog. Actually, many names were thrown at the dog that week; brute, beast, savage fiend, even Lucifer on a few accounts. Tank had succeeded in removing the stuffing of the pillows on John's chair and half the front of the couch, marking the legs of Sherlock's chair (this is when he became the Devil) with urine and knocking over various experiments by placing his front paws on the kitchen table.

A particularly terrify ordeal was Sherlock's shouting/barking match with the dog when he found the marks on his beautiful chair. And so John, upon returning home from the day's work, found Sherlock, who also evidently just got back from someplace or another, on his hands and knees glaring at Tank who was cowering underneath the couch.

"You—you creature!" Sherlock hissed at the dog, "My chair is _off limits_! Hear me? Off limits!"

John looked past the cushion stuffing on the floor and into the kitchen where a mess of broken bottles and liquids sprawled on the floor. John coughed, "He's not going to understand you."

Sherlock shot to his feet and laughed maniacally, "Oh I'll make him understand me!" He lunged forward to move the couch but John quickly stepped in his path and restrained him. "Sherlock he's a dog, for god's sake! It's his in his nature to tear things up!"

"Really? And is it in his nature to urinate on the lower half of my chair!?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

John cleared his throat and tried not to laugh at the fact that Sherlock was angrier that his chair was urinated on than that his experiments were all over the kitchen floor.

"Relax, Sherlock; it's easy enough to clean."

Sherlock ignored him and stalked off to his room. As John started cleaning up the kitchen, he heard Sherlock call from his room, "Did you know that Socrates died from drinking Hemlock?

John paused from his work, unsure of what he just heard. "Sherlock are you threatening to poison my dog?" The silence that followed his question worried him greatly.

* * *

The next day Harry called and announced she wanted Tank back. John agreed wholeheartedly because secretly he was worried that Sherlock would start using Tank for profound experiments that involved poison. The safety of Tank was the doctor's number one priority for the next few days until Harry could come pick him up.

After the dog was gone, Sherlock's mood lightened and one day he announced, "John."

"Yeah?"

"No more animals."

"Yeah, you're right, no more animals."

* * *

**REVIEW, MY DEAREST READERS!**


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